


4 Ball to the Corner Pocket

by babbitly



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, it's only kiyohana if you squint, the pool table fic no one wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbitly/pseuds/babbitly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Himuro owns a bar. It has a few pool tables. This fic is just porn. You can assume the rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Ball to the Corner Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> thank u dearest bent for this prompt. this fic was really fun to write.

The air is thick with the smell of cigarette smoke as the overhead hanging lights inside Himuro’s new bar, Mirage, illuminate the haze of smoke from the night’s patrons. The bar is loud, crowded with young guests, some turned to the stage to listen to the band that’s playing a strange acoustic cover of a Kanye West song, while others are gathered around the pool tables watching pick up games or turned towards their groups of friends, or strangers they’ve just met, talking and touching. But one person is doing neither of these things. And Himuro’s felt his eyes on him, heated and impatient, the entire night.

Himuro sighs, grabbing the drinks he’d just mixed, a Manhattan with “only one part bitters” and a gin and tonic, and turns around to face the wall of customers that stand before him and his three other bartenders. He sees familiar purple hair out of the corner of his eye and wills himself not to look in that direction, lest he get distracted by those tired eyes he’s felt on him all damn night, and slams the drinks down on the bar top in front of the man who ordered, getting the man’s attention as Himuro puts on a loose smile.

“Twenty even.” Himuro says to Hanamiya, a regular here who comes around almost every weekend and always manages to slip HImuro his phone number and a sly wink. He’s got his arm wrapped around a taller man's waist tonight though, someone with light brown hair and a kind face who Himuro’s never seen, as he digs into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled up fifty dollar bill. Poor guy.

“Just keep it, Himuro.” He yells over the music with a grin, winking as he puts the money down on the damp bar surface, Himuro doesn’t fail to notice that there is a piece of paper with nine digits on top of the bill. Hanamiya grabs the gin and tonic, hands it to the guy, and then takes the Manhattan and slides to the right, before easing his way back from the bar and through the crowd. Himuro grabs the money from the bar, not surprised as Hanamiya, though annoying with his persistence, especially because he knows Himuro’s been dating someone since high school, has always been a good tipper, and jabs the cash out button on the computer screen underneath the bar. He throws the money in the drawer, the phone number in the garbage, and looks at the time on the analog clock, 12:38 am. He flicks his eyes to the side, noticing Atsushi’s gaze, that’s boring holes into the back of Hanamiya head as he shoves a handful of chips in his mouth from the plate of nachos before him. He’s pissed.

Himuro grins, reaches across the bar to run his fingers across the knuckles of Atsushi’s large hand, capturing his attention again, and leans towards him, over the bar. “Do you want me to make you another drink?” He asks, noticing that Atsushi’s bubblegum martini with extra sugar around the rim is now empty. Completely empty. The sugar’s even been licked clean. “Or do you want to head upstairs soon and go to bed?”

When they’d bought the building it had come with a tiny apartment on the third floor so on night’s where Himuro knew he’d be working late, they just stayed there, always too tired to walk back to their home on the other side of town.

“I want a White Russian.” Atsushi says, muffled by the chips he’s still eating. Himuro smiles letting go of Atsushi’s hand to reach under the bar and grab the heavy cream from the fridge and just because he knows Atsushi will like it he grabs the whip-. “Put some whip cream on it too, Murochin.”

“Alright, Atsushi,” Himuro smiles, grabbing a shaker glass and the Kahlua.”Anything else?”

“Yeah, tell your bouncer not to let that guy in here anymore.” He says, turning in his seat and glaring again. HImuro couldn’t help but laugh.

 

\--------

The rest of the night went by in a blur of loud drunken patrons, more strange covers of hip hop songs that people were strangely enjoying, and way too many stolen glances at Atsushi as he sat at the bar the whole night, occasionally playing games on his phone, eating, glaring at customer’s who slipped Himuro their number, and in between those things, staring at Himuro like he wanted nothing more than to pull him over the bar top and kiss him.

Those looks came later in the night though, probably after his third White Russian, but every time Himuro caught his gaze he felt something twist in his gut and caught himself snagging his bottom lip between his teeth to hide his smirk.

But they had finally closed. Thank god, they had finally closed, HImuro thought. After the hectic night, he had finally sent his three other bartenders home five minutes ago, all of their pockets heavy with tips and a few phone numbers as well.

It was reaching 4 am as Himuro walked around the bar with a wet rag in hand, and headed towards the pool table in the middle of the long room. He saw the pool balls scattered about the table, three of them lined up almost perfectly with different pockets, and he couldn’t just not take the shots. He flipped the rag onto the edge of the table, grabbed a cue from the rack underneath and leaned forward.

He balanced the cue on his left hand, sliding it smoothly between his forefinger and thumb with a few practice shots before lining up behind the white ball. He bent over the table, pressing down low against the lip to aim. He wanted to knock the 4 ball into the right corner pocket but to do that he’d need some skill, which he had,  and to bounce the 4 ball off the left wall at just the right angle to roll across the pool table without scratching the cue ball.

He heard footsteps behind him, the screech of the table legs like it had been bumped in to, and took a deep breath, tuning out Atsushi and pulling back on the cue in his hand. He arched his back farther in to the table, maybe just for show, and jerked the cue forward. The cue ball smacked against the solid purple 4 ball with a satisfying knock before it bounced exactly where Himuro wanted it to hit, and rolled into the corner pocket.

“Do it again, Murochin” Atsushi said, voice much closer than Himuro expected.

Himuro jolted backwards, colliding into Atsushi’s large chest as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Don’t do that, Atsushi!” Himuro barked, turning around, coming face to face with Atsushi’s broad chest. Himuro pushes against him with his free hand and shoves him backwards. Atsushi’s face is full of mischief, from the narrowing of his eyes to the slight upturn of the corner of his lips as he closes the gap that Himuro had shoved between them, placing his hands on either side of Himuro on the lip of the pool table, and leans down to Himuro’s ear.

“I just wanted to watch closer.” Atsushi breaths out, so close that Himuro feels his words on his skin. He drags his teeth down Himuro’s earlobe, sending chills down the whole right side of his body, “You’re fun to watch, Murochin.”

“Then keep watching.” Himuro whispers as he lets his hand drop from Atsushi’s chest and spins around between his arms. He hears the low hum of satisfaction escape Atsushi’s lips as Himuro presses back into his body and leans forward over the table again, remembering exactly where his shot was.  

He lines up, leaning low over the table to see his read. He feels Atsushi’s hands move down to the sides of his thighs and slide up to the sides of his ass, traveling higher to rest low on his hips. Himuro smiles into his arm and arches his back on the table as Atsushi pushes forward slightly, pressing his erection into Himuro’s ass, as Himuro’s stomach flips from his touch.

Himuro pulls the cue back and right as he pushes the cue forward, Atsushi rolls his hips against him, making him press too hard on his release, shanking the ball he was aiming for and scratching the cue ball.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this, Murochin?” Atsushi says, voice lazy as he slides his hands up higher on Himuro’s waist. Himuro feels that little spark of excitement curl itself through his stomach and down his abdomen as he closes his eyes and pushes himself backwards to press into Atsushi, this time harder. He doesn’t even care about the missed shot, not with Atsushi’s erection pressing into his ass.

Atsushi growls. he actually fucking growls, as he digs his fingers into Himuro’s side and rocks forward against him, pushing Himuro’s crotch into the edge of the pool table.

“A-Atsushi,” Himuro pants, dropping the pool cue from his hand and spinning around, Atsushi’s hands never leaving his waist, to line himself up with Atsushi’s body.

Atsushi presses forward again, looming over him as their erections press together, the sweetest pressure Himuro’s ever known. He can smell the alcohol on Atsushi’s breath, all those buttery White Russians lingering on his mouth as he grabs his shoulders and pulls himself up to lick across his warm lips. “They’re sweet,” Himuro thinks, as Atsushi opens them and sucks Himuro’s tongue into his mouth. And then they’re kissing, hard and messy. Himuro wouldn’t even call it kissing because normally their kisses are languid with a hint of edge but this is all need.

Maybe Himuro should get Atsushi drunk more often.

 

“You could have gone to bed you know? You didn’t have to stay up for me.” HImuro says pulling away from Atsushi’s lips, thankful that he had in fact not gone to bed. Atsushi isn’t having it though and moves his head down to Himuro’s neck sucking at the skin there, hard.

“Atsushi that’s gonna leave a mark!” Himuro says louder, tangling his fingers into his long hair and pulling hard. Maybe harder than necessary. But Atsushi’s drunk he’ll get over it. And he does, merely biting harder at Himuro’s neck at his tugging and sliding his knee between Himuro’s legs and rocking forward. He slides his hand around Himuro’s back, pressing him closer to him putting friction between them both.

Himuro groans, tilting his neck to the side and he grabs a handful of Atsushi’s shirt at his shoulder, not caring if he leaves marks, because Atsushi sure as hell doesn’t.

“Murochin’s so salty,” Atsushi says, into his neck, licking a line up to his ear as his hand moves down to the waistline of his jeans, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric to trail a line of fire across his bare skin.

Himuro tightens his fist in Atsushi’s hair as his hips roll forward into the sensation of Atsushi’s fingers ghosting over the base of his straining dick. He loves how much Atsushi wants him, loves feeling like he’s being sucked in to his gravity by pure want and need.

 

“Murochin I want to fuck you right here.” Atsushi says, moving his hand out of Himuro’s jeans, making quick work of his button and zipper and pulls Himuro’s pants down past his ass in one swift go. Himuro turns his head into Atsushi’s hair, inhaling his sweet scent.

“We can’t, Atsushi” Himuro says even though he wants nothing more than to be fucked against this pool table. He’s breathing heavy across Atsushi’s hais as Atsushi slides his hand around Himuro’s dick and strokes him slowly, so slowly that it drives Himuro insane, “we have to-ahh- we don’t have anything- to ah-”

His words fall short as Atsushi wraps an arm around his back, lifts him up, and sits him down right on the edge of the pool table, the felt and wood cold on Himuro’s bare ass.

Atsushi steps back, his cheeks tinted pink from the alcohol, his eyes half-lidded and full of want, and drags his gaze down Himuro’s body, lingering on his leaking dick that sits against his abdomen. Himuro wants him to keep watching so he slides his own hand around his erection and pumps slow, only wanting to show off. Atsushi’s eyes widen slightly, only enough that unless you knew to look for the movement you’d miss it, and he reaches forward to pull Himuro’s jeans off the rest of the way. He throws them on the ground to the side and steps between Himuro’s legs, and trails his fingertips up the smooth skin of Himuro’s thighs, watching HImuro work his own dick. Himuro stills his hand on his dick and goes for the hem of Atsushi’s t-shirt and under it to feel Atsushi’s warm skin.

“We can’t do this here,” he says, stroking slow over Atsushi’s abdomen, tracing down the outline of his large dick that’s pressing against his jeans, almost like it’s begging for HImuro’s touch. But they need to go up to the bedroom because even he, after all these years, can’t, and frankly doesn’t want to, take Atsushi without lube.

Atsushi’s eyebrows raise, the corner of his mouth sliding into a small smile, as he shoves his hand into his pocket, producing a tiny foil packet of lube and a condom.

Himuro barks out a laugh, amazed and not at all surprised by his boyfriends drunken tact, “You fucking planned this didn’t you? You wanted me on this table.” He says, leaning back on his hands, knocking a pool ball to the side as he does.  

“You’re so annoying, Murochin.” Atsushi says, narrowing his eyes, the effect not as intimidating as usual because of the high spots of pink that mar his pale face. “I sat there all night, what else was I supposed to think about?”

Himuro laughs again, reaching up an brushing Atsushi’s hair out of his face, “I knew you were thinking something lewd, Atsushi.”

Himuro slides his hand down Atsushi’s abdomen, popping open the button of his pants and unzipping them. He pulls down the offending article of clothing, shortly followed by his dark boxer briefs, freeing his dick, pink and swollen and already leaking. Himuro runs his thumb across the tip, hearing Atsushi’s hiss of a breath, and wraps his hand around him, stroking down to his base and stopping. He’s so hard, and hot, and fuck Himuro wants him right now.

“Have you been this hard all night, Atsushi?” Himuro says, staring up into his face, watching his eyes flutter shut as his hand slides down the length of his dick. “I could see it on your face everytime I looked at you. Do you like watching me work, Atsushi?”

Nothing.

“Maybe you like that I have to bend over so much to make drinks?”

Nothing.

Himuro leans forward, pressing his lips to Atsushi’s before pulling back and whispers, positive that this question is what’s gotten him so worked up, “Maybe you get jealous of all those numbers I get?”

Atsushi flicks his eyes back to Himuro’s face, his expression deadly.

We have a winner.

And Himuro knows he shouldn’t think it, but it makes his stomach coil in desire, seeing how much Atsushi want to keep him, wants him only to be his, doesn’t want to share him with anyone. Himuro kisses him again, dragging his tongue across his sweet lips, tangling their tongues together while pulling him forward to wrap his hand around both of their dicks, the sensation of Atsushi’s stiff heat against his own almost too much, before pulling back again.

“All those other people might get to look at me, Atsushi,” Himuro says, against Atsushi’s lips, serious now, “but you’re the only one who gets to have me.”

“Murochin, you’re so gross.” Atsushi says, stepping away from Himuro’s hand, but his voice is thick and his eyes sure as hell aren’t full of disgust. Atsushi presses his large palm against Himuro’s chest, leaning him back slightly and rips open the condom between his teeth. He rolls it on, and Himuro strokes his own dick, slow, just watching, too turned on by Atsushi’s movements to even say anything.

He tears open the lube next, coating his fingers in the shiny substance before he looks back to Himuro and circles one of his arms around him, hand stilling against Himuro’s lower back angling him backwards and holding him there. Himuro feels cool fingers circle his entrance, the temperature almost relieving to his overheated body, and then Atsushi presses in to him, with two fingers, slowly, always so cautious. He moves his fingers in and out of Himuro curling his fingers deep inside him stretching him and eliciting moans of the best kind from Himuro.

“Atsushi ahh-ah” Himuro huffs out between harsh breaths, arching his back into Atsushi’s touch, pushing against his fingers needing more. He needs more. Now. “Please,” he moans out, not proud of it, but he’d lost his pride when it came to Atsushi years ago, as his head falls backwards. “Please, Atsushi.”

“Please what Murochin?” Atsushi says, adding a third finger to his movements and Himuro feels so good. Atsushi is so good, fuck.

“Fuck me, please, please, pleas-” Himuro pants out as Atsushi scissors his fingers, with his pumps, brushing against his prostate with every go. Himuro feels the sparks of heat curling across his abdomen with his movements, feels it spreading into his legs-”Atsush-.”

And then he stops.

Himuro whines when Atsushi pulls his fingers out and stares down at Himuro, watches him, smiling.

“Now who’s the lewd one, Murochin?” He says, stroking his dick and spreading the lube down his length before he lines himself up to Himuro’s entrance. Himuro scratches his nails against the felt of the pool table as Atsushi holds himself at Himuro’s entrance, teasing him.

“Atsushi, please,” Himuro almost yells, grabbing on to Atsushi’s arm that’s wrapped around his body and squeezing, trying to pull him closer.

“So needy.” he says before sliding in to Himuro in one steady push, both of them sighing at the feeling.

“Fuck,” Himuro hisses out as Atsushi begins rolling his hips forward, holding Himuro as tight to him as he can, “So g-od, ah-Atsushi you’re so-o.”

Atsushi’s movements are slow at first, his rhythm torturous as he pumps into Himuro, and then pulls out almost all the way before sliding back in. He grazes across Himuro’s prostate with every movement, and it’s got Himuro’s nerves on edge. Those tiny pricks of ecstasy just buzzing beneath his skin, shooting through his body with every push and pull of Atsushi’s body. Himuro arches his back more, wrapping his legs around Atsushi’s waist, digging his heels in to Atsushi’s ass. Heavy moans falling from his mouth with every thrust as Atsushi moves in him deeper and deeper and “oh, fuck,” he groans out.

Atsushi starts to scratch the nails of the hand holding Himuro’s lower back into his skin lightly, just barely a sensation to Himuro, as he wraps his other hand around Himuro’s dick and strokes him in long pulls, matching his hips.

Himuro wants to lean forward and tangle his lips against Atsushi’s, brush the hair that’s hanging down in his face away, but he wants this pleasure more. He’s not moving anywhere when Atsushi’s lined up this perfectly with him, every thrust building him up closer and closer to his climax.

Atsushi swipes his thumb over the tip of Himuro’s dick and thumbs the underside, tracing the thick vein before circling his head again, and Himuro feels his abdomen twist in the best way with the movement.

“Atsushi I’m so close, I’m so-,” Himuro pants out, digging his nails into Atsushi’s upper arm and pulling him forward with his heels as Atsushi speeds up his pace. He’s not slow anymore, he’s not steady, he’s erratic and taking no caution and it hurts to have his skin slapping against Himuro so hard but it’s the kind of hurt Himuro never wants to live without.

Atsushi leans forward, mouthing at the skin of Himuro’s chest as he speeds up his pace with his hand, stroking Himuro from base to tip, curling his hand as he moves upward. Himuro feels the pleasure shooting through his abdomen, “so close,” himuro breaths out, the feeling shooting down his thighs, “so-ah” he stutters out as he feels Atsushi slide thick and hard against his prostate one last time before he’s arched farther back into Atsushi’s hand and shaking as his orgasm rolls through him, his hips rolling forward to meet every single one of Atsushi’s thrusts. Atsushi’s hand pumps him through his climax, shaking and moaning as Atsushi keeps moving within him.

And it isn’t ten second later that he feels Atsushi’s movement lose rhythm as he starts thrusting hard and shallow and his hand tightens on the skin of Himuro’s back and he’s coming undone between his legs.

“Murochin” Atsushi moans out, curling in on himself and biting the cloth of Himuro’s shirt as he rocks through his orgasm.

Atsushi finally stills, stands there hunched over Himuro, his breath warm as he pants against Himuro’s chest. Himuro tries to lean forward on the edge of the pool table, noticing that his tailbone has started to go numb from the angle and his back beginning to ache, before he slides his hand up Atsushi’s back and into his messy hair. Atsushi stays there inside him until his breathing slows before he pulls out, and a flash of loss surges through Himuro’s hazed out brain at the feeling of not being full.

Himuro stares at Atsushi as his hands move to pull off his condom, tying it, and throwing it on top of Himuro’s jeans that lay crumpled on the floor of the bar before he looks back to him. He’s beautiful. All red cheeked and loose haired and completely wrecked.

Atsushi straightens his posture and leans into Himuro, pressing his lips to Himuro’s once again, kissing him slow and deep, bringing his other hand up to Himuro’s face, his touch the most familiar thing in his life, and thumbing at his bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth. Himuro sighs as Atsushi moves his head lower, kissing a line down Himuro’s jaw and neck before circling back up to his ear.

“Maybe you are actually good on the pool table, Murochin.” Atsushi says, his voice still thick and full of teasing.

Himuro chuckles and pulls Atsushi’s hair, bringing them face to face, staring into his eyes, “Of course I’m good on the pool table, Atsushi.”

“Ugh, so annoying.”

 

 


End file.
